


Pizza Night in Imladris

by Caelum_Blue



Series: This Day and Age [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon(ish), Elves, Europe, Family, Gen, Humor, Maglor needs to get over himself, Mithrellas is a speed demon, Modern Era, Modernday Elves, Nimrodel hates everyone, Pizza, Rivendell, allusions to the Tolkiens, the elves are fond of the Peter Jackson films
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caelum_Blue/pseuds/Caelum_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elladan and Elrohir had only wanted Maglor to relax for a bit - not have a near-fatal reunion with two elves of Doriath, they swear. Nimrodel's snickering isn't helping. And WHERE is Mithrellas with the pizza?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cell Phones Are the Root of All Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from fanfiction.net. I'm getting wary of the changes they're making there, so I figured it was time to start reposting stuff...
> 
> \---
> 
> This is an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. Years, really. Out of all the genres in Tolkienverse fanfiction, Modernday Elves is probably my favorite. I first encountered it back in high school, when I read Mirrordance's For Every Evil trilogy and Neige's A Friday - both excellent stories that I highly recommend, if you haven't read them already. They were different as can be - FEE dealt with reincarnated heroes and world-saving plots, while A Friday focused more on everyday life - but both stories were well-done and got me interested in the idea of elves quietly living among us.
> 
> The nice thing about the Modernday Elves genre is that it comes in all flavors - funny, sad, bittersweet - and there's so much you can do with it. After all, you can play with the entire history of the planet while using the same characters. The possibilities are endless.
> 
> So a few years ago I started thinking about writing my own Modernday Elves stories, and now I've got my own little series of stories that are waiting to be told. I call it This Day and Age. I've kept it as canon as possible - except for the fact that, well, there are still elves around and they haven't faded yet; that'd kind of defeat the point. I got my cast of characters figured out - it includes the usual suspects, a number of canon elves who I hardly ever see in modernday settings, plus some OCs (don't worry, they're nice OCs).
> 
> The This Day and Age series is meant to be fun and sometimes bittersweet. As it stands, I have no plans for Morgoth's second coming, Dagor Dagorath, stopping evil madmen from world domination, or even a reincarnated Fellowship. For now, TDaA is meant to focus on the not-exactly-ordinary, everyday lives of those immortals who never left.
> 
> Pizza Night in Imladris is set sometime in the mid-2000s (by which I mean the mid-00s). Possibly 2005.

**Cell Phones Are The Root Of All Evil**   
_In which Elladan and Elrohir call Maglor and demand he come to Pizza Night._

As days went, Maglor Fëanorion supposed he was having a rather good one. This was generally due to the fact that the day had not been horrifyingly, soul-crushingly bad. He'd had those days. They weren't very fun.

But today had not been one of those days, and thus Maglor decided that it must have been a good day. It certainly wasn't a _great_ day, but then, Maglor hadn't had a great day since the Fifth Age.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had an outright-fantastic, no-strings-attached wonderful day. He suspected it was sometime before Curufin had been born, the manipulative little schemer. There had been no such thing as unconditional peace in Maglor's life since Curufin's birth, even _before_ they'd all left Valinor. Maglor was pretty sure that the only thing that could possibly be worse than Curufin was if Fëanor had had a twin. Though, seeing as Curufin had looked _exactly_ like Fëanor and Mother had even named him "Little Father", Fëanor might as well _have_ had a twin.

Curufin the Crafty had just had a way of turning everything and anyone to his advantage. If something - good or bad - was going on, you could bet Curufin would find a way to profit off of it. Father wouldn't display his Silmarils in public? Curufin brought out his own gems to show off. Maedhros might be dead? Curufin wrote a lengthy dissertation listing all the ways Celegorm would be a better king than Maglor. Maglor and Maedhros started arguing with Celegorm over ascension rights and responsibilities? Curufin took the opportunity while they were distracted to rearrange a few borderlines on the maps to give himself and Celegorm a few hundred more square miles. A lost Sindarin princess was found wandering alone? Curufin tried to get her married to Celegorm.

In fact, the only person Curufin _hadn't_ mercilessly attempted to scam was Celegorm. It was safe to say that Celegorm had even benefited from Curufin's schemes. Curufin and Celegorm, the dynamic duo. Brains and brawn. Thick as thieves, the two of them had been. Maglor supposed it had been a good survival strategy for them, as he was privately convinced that without Curufin's smarts Celegorm would have gotten himself killed in childhood, and without Celegorm's strength Curufin would have been eaten by trolls the minute they stepped off the boats into Beleriand.

The two brothers had bonded from an early age, leaving poor Caranthir the Underrated in the dust as the lonely middle child. Now and then Celegorm and Curufin would let him tag along, but usually it was just Caranthir all by his lonesome. No one had thought it was a problem; at least not until Caranthir had met that Haleth girl. That had been an eye-opener. The poor guy had been so desperate he'd asked a mortal woman to be his sidekick. Curufin, of course, had mercilessly teased and possibly blackmailed Caranthir about it for the rest of their lives.

The only thing Curufin had never managed to profit off of was Huan. Maglor was pretty sure the real reason Oromë had only granted the dog three instances of speech had nothing to do with temperance and patience and all those other generic virtues. It was probably to keep Curufin from turning the hound into a sideshow.

But strange reminiscences of dead brothers aside, today had been a pretty good day. There was the sand, there was the sea, there was the sky, and there was the silence broken only by his occasional song.

There were some tourists too, but they were staying far, far away from him. One or two had tried to approach, but they'd stopped after about five steps when the mysterious, beautiful, otherworldly music had made them start thinking about pain and death and seas of blood. People usually stayed away from him after that. Not that Maglor was complaining.

He idly plucked a few of his harp's strings, watching the waves. A seagull flew overhead, and he grimaced. Stupid seagulls. Rats with wings, that's all they were. So bold, and daring, and perfectly willing to snatch sandwiches out of unsuspecting tourists' hands. Not to mention their obsession with all things shiny. Seagulls were always snatching up shiny things and flying away with them...

He had the briefest memory of a young woman, her long dark hair blowing dramatically as she stood before an open window, glowing gem in hand.

Maglor grimaced and firmly shoved the image from his mind, instead focusing on the here and now. He stood at the edge of the surf, and felt his feet sink further into the sand with every receding wave, and tried out silly little ditties on his harp.

So there he was, walking along the stretch of beach, freaking out tourists, singing to the sea, and generally enjoying his pretty good day. As much as he was capable of enjoying anything, at least.

It was strangely peaceful, even with the sea's constant taunting and the stupid seagulls shrieking overhead.

And then he heard it - Beethoven's Für Elise erupting from his pocket in squeaky, electronic tones.

Maglor stared at the horizon for a moment in resigned silence before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. "...Hello?"

"Maglor," Elladan said, in a clipped tone that reminded the Fëanorion far too much of Elrond. "Where in Arda are you?"

"...The beach," Maglor answered, and braced himself for the next question.

" _Which_ beach?"

"Somewhere in the Mediterranean, I think," Maglor sighed, looking at the tourists scattered along the shoreline. After listening to their chatter for a moment, he added, "Everyone's speaking Italian."

"Well, at least we've narrowed it down to a country," Elladan said. "Elrohir? A little help?"

"Thank the Valar for this modern Age with its cell phones and triangulation," Maglor heard the other twin in the background. "Otherwise we'd never find him!"

"Might I ask _why_ you want to find me?" Maglor asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. For some reason, Elladan and Elrohir had _always_ wanted to find him, ever since they'd first met back in the Fifth Age. Maglor had been pleased to meet them - even if he was a bit irritated that they hadn't sailed yet, the ungrateful privileged brats - and had also been pleased to go on his not-so-merry way. But the twins had latched on like leeches, deciding that he needed to spend time with them, with other elves, with other people and no, Maglor, the illusions that pop up when you're singing do not count as people and even if they did they're all dead or dying anyway so you really need some better company.

"Because we haven't heard from you in over a year," Elladan answered, sounding absolutely miffed.

"That's hardly any time at all..."

"We were getting worried."

"I do believe the twenty-first century has ruined your patience, Elladan," Maglor said dryly. "We used to go for decades without hearing from each other. Centuries, even."

"Yeah, thank Ilúvatar that's over," he heard Elrohir say. "I don't know how we ever managed without cell phones."

Maglor spared a moment to glare at the treacherous piece of technology in his hand.

"They're like palantíri," Elrohir continued. "Only far more available to the general public."

"Elrohir!" Maglor exclaimed. Elrond's secondborn might as well have compared the Silmarils to fluorescent lighting.

"Just as easily lost, too," Elladan said, and Maglor could hear the smile in his voice.

"Whatever am I going to do with you two?" he sighed.

"It's not just us," Elladan said, voice turning stern. "Jacelyn hasn't heard from you in months. She's getting worried."

Maglor blinked. "Jacelyn's a grown woman now. She doesn't need me; she can take care of herself."

"We know _that_ ," Elrohir snorted. "It's _you_ she's worried about!"

"..."

"Did you ever think maybe your daughter would _like_ you to stay involved in her life? Even _after_ she grew up?"

"Well..."

"Because that's what normal people _do_ , Maggie - "

"Don't call me that!"

" - they _keep in touch with their family_."

Maglor sighed. "What _am_ I going to do with you?" he said again, because he had nothing else _to_ say.

"Well...you _could_ come visit us in Imladris for a bit..."

Maglor hadn't been to Imladris for decades; not since World War Two. It wasn't that he disliked the twins - quite the opposite, actually - it was just that most people didn't like _him_. "I...am not so sure that would be wise, Elladan."

"Oh, come on Maglor, you've visited here before! And everyone was fine with you."

Maglor gritted his teeth. "Elladan..."

"Please? For our sakes? We'd like to see you again."

"Pleeeeeease?" Elrohir added, and Maglor could all-too-well envision the puppy-dog eyes. Elrond had been a master at them.

Maglor sighed. Truth be told, he wanted to see the twins, too. Just...maybe not in Imladris. No matter how many times he went there, he always felt uncomfortable. The elves who'd lived with Elrond had mostly come from Sirion, and half the elves from Sirion had come from Doriath. Not a good combination, even if they all claimed it was water under the bridge. "Why don't _you_ come see _me_?"

"Because _we_ actually have a house to play host in," Elladan answered. "Also, we wanted you to come for Pizza Night."

Maglor thought he must have heard wrong. "Pizza Night?"

"Yeah. We're inviting you to Pizza Night; that's why we want _you_ to come see _us_. Besides, you don't even know where you _are_ \- "

"Got it!" Elrohir said suddenly. "He's in Viareggio."

"Am I?" Maglor asked. Come to think of it, he _had_ seen that name on a few signs, though he hadn't paid much attention to them. There was a beach, he'd been walking along it for miles, and that was all that mattered.

"Perfect," Elladan said, sounding far too satisfied. "We'll have Mith and Nim pick you up."

Maglor felt his heart stop. "Mith and Nim?" he repeated weakly.

"Yes, Maggie, Mith and Nim."

"Why them?" he asked, voice rising in panic. "Can't you send someone else? What about Glorfindel?"

"Glorfindel's already here," Elladan explained patiently. "Mith and Nim are in Florence. We'll have them pick you up. It's more practical that way."

"You expect me to spend ten hours in a car with _Mith and Nim_?"

"More like twelve," Elrohir said. "Hey, Mithrellas?" he went on, and Maglor realized he must have dialed the elleth on his own phone. "Yeah, we found him. He's in Viareggio. Think you could drop by and pick him up tomorrow morning?"

Maglor groaned.

"Now, Maglor," Elladan chided, "you've gone up against orcs and dragons and Balrogs and Morgoth himself. I'm quite certain you can deal with a pair of petulant Silvan maidens." A beat. "I mean, Mith doesn't mind you so much, anyway. It's Nim who you need to worry about."

"Great!" Elrohir said. "Fantastic. Thanks Mith. See you ladies soon. Bye." A moment's pause, and then he said to Elladan's phone, "Hey, Maglor, they're gonna pick you up at the Palace Hotel tomorrow at eight AM. It's on the corner of Viale Giosue Carducci and Via Flavio Gioia."

"Wonderful," Maglor deadpanned.

"Indeed," Elladan agreed. "Now go call Jacelyn."

Something started beeping, and Maglor sighed in relief at his salvation. "I can't - my phone's nearly out of battery."

"Then you'll call her once you get here."

Maglor sighed again. "If you insist."

"I do. See you soon. _Navaer_."

" _Namárië_ ," Maglor said, and Elladan hung up.

Maglor stared at the phone for a second before looking back up at the sun setting at the edge of the sea. He contemplated hurling the chunk of plastic and circuits into the water, but he'd already tossed a Silmaril to Lord Ulmo. No point in giving him his cell phone, too. Knowing the Vala, Ulmo would probably decide to share it with Aulë, which would lead to the great smith replicating and distributing the technology for kicks. And then the peace of Valinor would be forever ruined with horrid techno ringtones of _The Lay of Leithian_ and _Eärendil was a Mariner_.

...Actually, put like that, it sounded totally worth it.

Maglor stared at the little battery image blinking in the corner of his display screen. He glanced back up at the sunset, and wondered how hysterically Arien was laughing at him.

_Oh, screw it._

He didn't throw it with nearly so much contempt as he'd thrown the blasted jewel, and the phone certainly didn't look like a shooting star as it streaked towards the water. But the little splash it made as it hit the waves was entirely satisfactory and had Maglor grinning like an idiot to himself.

Then he saw a pair of tourists who'd crept up to within ten feet of him. Well-off, judging from their dress, and probably hoping to ask about his music or something. Though the cell phone display seemed to be giving them second thoughts. The man looked uncertain, and the woman was staring at him with skewed eyebrows from under her large, floppy white beach hat. Probably thought he was crazy.

Maglor could have laughed. They had _no_ idea.

He hefted his harp and began singing loudly about how much blood was on the floor when Celegorm killed and was killed by the son of the woman he'd almost married, and the tourists beat a hasty retreat.


	2. An Awkward Road Trip With Mith And Nim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we get to meet the dynamic duo that is Mithrellas and Nimrodel! These ladies always get overlooked. I wish there was more fic about them. Nimrodel caught my attention the very first time I read Fellowship (I'm a sucker for background characters who no one pays attention to), and once I learned about her friend Mithrellas's story, I was even more intrigued. I am fairly certain that, from a more canonical viewpoint, Mithrellas probably sailed West and Nimrodel probably died, but keeping them around and alive is way more fun. Poor Maglor...

**An Awkward Road Trip with Mith and Nim** _  
In which they drive for hours and have a multilingual conversation._

His ride arrived promptly at eight the next morning, and Maglor took a moment to survey the elf ladies seated inside the silver BMW. Nimrodel was at the wheel, looking disgruntled - as she always did whenever she needed to deal with his existence. Mithrellas sat in the passenger seat, looking far more cheery as she lowered her window.

"Maglor!" she beamed, taking off her Gucci sunglasses so she could get a better look at him. "How have you been?"

He shrugged. "No different than usual."

Mithrellas nodded and cast a quick look at the small, worn bag he had slung over his shoulder. "Is that all you've got with you?"

"Yes." He gave her a very firm look. He did not need a Silva's sympathy.

She nodded, smiling brightly, and he knew she was quietly pitying him. Ugh. "Alright then. Hop on in!"

Nimrodel's finger was tapping the steering wheel as Maglor clambered into the back seat and tried to settle himself among the baggage. There was lots of it. Mithrellas and Nimrodel had apparently been on one of their famous shopping sprees while in Florence. He wondered how much they'd spent. Whatever it was, they could afford it - being immortal had its perks, after all. With their infinite patience, money-managing skills, and all the land, gold, and treasures they'd gathered up through the Ages, the elves who hadn't sailed had never hurt for money. Erestor was a genius when it came to finance, and the twins had inherited the gift of foresight from their father and thus usually had a pretty good idea of how to handle the stock market. To put it bluntly, they were all filthy stinking rich.

Except for Maglor, of course, who'd spent the majority of his life wandering around Arda as a pauper. Oh, he'd made a few fortunes, but he'd given them all up when he felt it was time to move on. The money was either inherited by whatever mortal child he'd adopted at the time or donated to some good cause, and he would return to his lonely life wandering the seashores with nothing to his name but his harp and the clothes on his back.

Needless to say, most of the other elves thought he was crazy for preferring to be poor most of the time, but Maglor was pretty sure he'd been certifiably insane since the night he swore that blasted Oath. Living in perpetual poverty was just one more decision in a long string of crazy choices. He deserved it, anyway. And besides, money was completely unnecessary. He didn't need designer labels to live (no matter how much Elrohir might object), he knew how to find food in the wilderness, and if worse came to worst he could always convince someone to sell him what he needed for a song. Literally.

Mithrellas and Nimrodel, on the other hand... Well, if it wasn't for the fact that he knew that the amount they spent on clothing was only a fraction of the amount they donated to charity, he'd be rather pissed off at the small fortune of designer shopping bags that were laid out on the back seat.

"Feel free to shove things around," Mithrellas said, reaching back to help clear some space. "It's not like there's anything breakable."

"Sure," Maglor said, pushing a shoebox out of his way. It was from Prada, he noted, and Mithrellas must have seen his eyebrows raise because she said, "That's for Rhíchen. Nimmy and I promised to bring her shoes."

"Hm," said Maglor. He'd never been able to understand why women - even elf-women - were so obsessed with overpriced shoes. And it wasn't just the women, either... "Did you also get some for Elrohir, or will they have to share?"

"Elrohir can easily buy his own shoes," Mithrellas said.

"Are we about ready?" Nimrodel asked suddenly, almost managing to sound civil. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel. Maglor hastily buckled his seatbelt.

"Yes."

She didn't deign to answer that, merely hit the gas pedal and sped off down the street, nearly flattening three motor scooters and their drivers along the way.

"Careful, Nimmy," Mithrellas chided cheerily. "Don't run over the Vespas."

Nimrodel grumbled something so garbled it was unintelligible even to elven ears, and Maglor sank back in his seat. It was going to be a _long_ trip.

* * *

Maglor had forgotten how trying it was to have a conversation with Nimrodel. Her sheer dislike of him was only half the problem. The other half was her notorious pickiness when it came to languages.

"I swear, if you two don't stop using that _horrid_ tongue..."

Mithrellas sighed. "Nimmy..." Maglor couldn't help but pity her. She was trying her best to bridge the gaping chasm between the indignant, peace-loving Wood Elf who was her best friend and the ancient, kin-slaying Noldo who would rather be anywhere else. And she was failing rather spectacularly.

" _No_. You _know_ I don't like Sindarin, Mith."

"But you'll speak it," Mithrellas pointed out.

"Sometimes," Nimrodel grumbled. "When it's practical. Not now."

Maglor knew he should be offended that Nimrodel thought it impractical to speak with him, but he'd gotten used to it after putting up with her bigotry for the past two ages. He deserved it, anyway. Besides, it could be worse - she could be actively trying to kill him, instead of just doing it passive aggressively by attempting to crash the car.

Mithrellas sighed. "Fine, fine, we'll stop with the Sindarin...and Quenya's out of the question, I suppose."

"Definitely," Nimrodel grumbled. "That's even _worse_."

Maglor closed his eyes and refrained from saying anything about backwards, backwoods, isolationist Wood Elves and their inherent inferiority. Nimrodel would probably just come right back with something snide about High Elves and their tendency to kill their own kin and generally wreak havoc on the world. And she'd be _right_.

"Fine." Mithrellas turned in her seat to look at Maglor. "And we don't want her to kill you for speaking in Nandorin."

"Right," he said. Nimrodel had a tendency to flip out on people who attempted to speak her native language if she thought they weren't worthy of speaking it. Those who she thought were unworthy included basically everyone alive. She'd even refused to teach it to Ronnie. The philologist had asked her, multiple times and very nicely, for a lexicon and basic grammar rules, and every single time she'd refused, claiming that she wasn't going to let the mortals get ahold of her precious Nandorin. She'd gotten the other Wood Elves to go along with her, and she'd threatened the few Sindar who actually knew Nandorin with unspeakable horrors should they teach anyone else the language. Maglor would have taught it to Ronnie himself, but he knew it would only end in Nimrodel roasting him alive, and had thus refrained.

"The tongues of Men it is, then," said Mithrellas, and she promptly continued the conversation in English. "As I was saying, Maglor, the twins are looking forward to seeing you again. Aren't they, Nimmy?"

"Naturalmente ci si passare alla lingua inglese," Nimrodel grumbled in Italian.

"What's wrong with English?"

"Suona come cani che abbaiano."

Maglor snorted. He'd never compared English to barking dogs, but he supposed he could see why Nimrodel might think it sounded like that. Somewhere in North Oxford, Ronnie was rolling in his grave.

...Come to think of it, Nimrodel hadn't had a problem with English before Maglor had introduced her to Ronnie.

Dammit.

Mithrellas raised an eyebrow at her friend. "Souhaitez-vous que je parle le français?"

Nimrodel grimaced. "Ai, Valar, no! Questa lingua suona come se soffre di una raffreddore permanente..."

Maglor smirked. The sound of the French language was probably one of the few things Nimrodel would agree with him on. A permanent head-cold, indeed. Ronnie, he remembered fondly, hadn't cared for it much either. German, on the other hand...

"Wie wäre es mit Deutsch?" Maglor asked before he could stop himself. Nimrodel glared at him through the rear-view mirror.

"Non fatemi parlare," she said. "Utilizzare una lingua bellissima. Non che ci sono molti in questi giorni..."

Maglor sighed. She had a point - there really _weren't_ many beautiful languages these days. There were plenty of lovely ones, of course, but none of them could ever compare to Elvish, in any of its forms.

But Maglor was used to not speaking Elvish. He'd lost his native tongue in the First Age when Thingol had outlawed Quenya, and he'd lost Sindarin when he'd started spending more time around mortals than with his own kind.

It'd been a long, long time since Maglor had used any sort of Elvish on a day-to-day basis. These days, he mostly stuck to the tongues of men. He'd always rather liked German. Nimrodel, on the other hand, disliked most languages, save her own. It could get horrendously annoying at times. Oh, she made sure to _learn_ them all, for the sake of practicality. But she clung to her ancient Silvan tongue like a toddler to its security blanket, never mind that she and Mithrellas and a handful of other remaining Nandor were the only ones who knew how to speak it anymore.

"Et ce qui se qualifie comme étant _bellissima_ pour vous?" Mithrellas asked, speaking mostly in French just to annoy her friend. Maglor wondered why she even bothered asking - Mithrellas probably already knew what Nimrodel considered beautiful.

"Italiano, naturalmente. Ha un suono decente ad esso. O meglio ancora" - she switched to Finnish halfway through her sentence - "Suomen. Tämä yksi on ihana."

Maglor smiled out the window. That was maybe the one thing he and Nimrodel could agree upon. Finnish was indeed a beautiful language - and it sounded a good deal like Quenya, too. One might have thought Nimrodel would have shunned it for that reason, but the Wood Elf's reasons for disliking the tongue of the Noldor had nothing to do with how it sounded.

It just had everything to do with the people who spoke it.

* * *

"When was the last time you _bathed_?"

"Nimmy!" Mithrellas said, aghast.

"Yesterday," Maglor answered matter-of-factly. "In the Mediterranean."

"That explains the stench of seaweed and rotting marine life, then," Nimrodel grumbled.

"Nimmy!" Mithrellas said again. "Be nice!"

"It's fine, Mithrellas," Maglor said.

"Oh, stop martyring yourself," she scowled, and she handed him a slice of bread slathered in a chocolate spread. "Here, have some Nutella."

"For lunch?"

She grinned. "Why not?"

Maglor rolled his eyes and happily bit into the little slice of heaven.

"So," said Mithrellas, spreading more Nutella over another slice of bread. "I've talked your ears off about what Nimmy and I have been up to... Now it's your turn."

He sighed. "Not much, really."

"Maglor..."

"No, honestly. Not much. Just...walking on the beach, really."

"For the past year?"

He thought about it while he chewed his bread. "Yeah. I think so."

Nimrodel snorted. "What did you do, walk the length of the Italian coastline?"

"Well, I started at Venice..."

Nimrodel's eyes met his in the rear-view mirror, her brows arched in a way that could be construed as either vaguely impressed or skeptical. Mithrellas turned around in her seat to stare at Maglor.

"You've spent a _year_ walking around Italy?"

"You've spent a year driving around it," he muttered. "You've got some Nutella on your chin."

"But that's driving! Walking takes so much longer!"

"Am I the _only person_ who can remember a time before modern technology?"

"No," Nimrodel said sullenly, looking upset at the fact that she was agreeing with Maglor about something.

Mithrellas shook her head. "I can't believe you've been spending months just walking along the edge of the country..."

"I used to do it for years," he said, thinking of the Second, Third, and Fourth Ages.

"Well, you can't now," Mithrellas said primly. "Jacelyn's been worried sick - "

"Jacelyn's a grown woman!"

" - and we've all been trying to contact you for months!"

" _I_ wasn't," Nimrodel muttered.

"Yes," Maglor sighed. "I know. It was hard to miss the fifty new voice mail messages every time I got around to recharging my phone."

"Then why didn't you ever call us _back_?"

Maglor gave her a very dull look. Mithrellas scowled.

"Fine. Be that way. But you _owe_ Jacelyn."

"Jacelyn's fine - "

"No, she's not! You _left her_!"

"With a house and a job and a decent amount of money! She can take care of herself! And I _told_ her I was leaving, it's not like I snuck off in the dead of night!" He gave Mithrellas a pointed look. She ignored it.

"She didn't realize you were going to drop off the face of the earth! She thought you'd at least keep in touch!"

Maglor opened his mouth to reply and forced himself to stop. Yes, Mithrellas was being a hypocrite, but that wasn't an excuse for him to be malicious. He sighed.

"Have you even called her yet?" Mithrellas asked.

"I will once we get to Imladris."

Mithrellas sighed and shook her head. "She's been worried sick, Maglor," she said, and he felt a little knot of guilt twist in his gut. He was surprised there was room for it, given all the other guilt he had knotted up in there. "And I just don't understand how you could just _leave_ your child like that."

Maglor raised an eyebrow at her. "I think you _do_ , Mithrellas."

A stricken look passed over her face, very briefly. Her mouth opened, then closed, and then she turned back around to stare out her window. In the rear-view mirror, Nimrodel shot Maglor a heated glare.

* * *

Halfway through the Italian Alps, Nimrodel announced that she was tired of driving.

"Great!" Mithrellas grinned. They'd all come to an unspoken agreement to forget about the conversation from a few hours ago, and Mithrellas's mood had taken a turn for the better since. "My turn, then!"

Maglor tried to hide his anxiety. "Er...are you sure, Mith? Because I'd be happy to if you - "

"No way are you getting your bloody hands on this steering wheel," Nimrodel growled as she pulled into a rest stop. Maglor flinched reflexively.

"Now, Nimmy," Mithrellas said. "It _is_ my car."

Nimrodel grumbled something under her breath in Nandorin as she parked the car.

"Thanks for the offer, Maglor," Mithrellas added, ignoring her friend. "But there's really no need."

"But..."

"When was the last time you actually _drove_ a car, anyway?"

"..."

"My thoughts exactly," Mithrellas said, getting out of the car and stretching. Maglor followed suit. "Besides, I've been itching to drive for _hours_."

That was what Maglor was afraid of. Nimrodel was a decent driver when she wasn't trying to kill him - and even when she _was_ trying to kill him, because she didn't necessarily want to kill the _other_ people in the car.

Mithrellas, on the other hand... Mithrellas was a speed demon.

"If you've got to use the bathroom, go now," Nimrodel said as she headed towards the service station. Maglor followed suit, knowing that she had the right idea. Once Mithrellas got in a groove, it was hard to get her out of it. He recalled that one time in the States, back in the '80s, when they'd made the mistake of putting her behind the wheel during their drive to Walt Disney World. They'd gone from New York to Florida within fourteen hours. No stops. For _anything_. Except gas.

Once he was done with the restroom, Maglor headed back to the car. He briefly considered going into the service station to grab something to eat - his last supper, for all he knew - but then he remembered that he had no money. It didn't matter, though, because Mithrellas handed him a sandwich when he got back to the car.

"Nothing fancy," she said as she chewed on her own meal, gazing out at the mountains surrounding them. "Just some bread, cheese, prosciutto..."

"The prosciutto's lovely," he answered.

"Mm-hmm," she said happily. "Same recipe from hundreds of years ago. Just as good as it was back then."

"Nice to know some things don't change," Nimrodel said. She, too, was staring off at the mountains.

"There've been good changes," Mithrellas said. "I, for one, really enjoy traveling through the Misties without worrying about an orc attack."

Nimrodel blanched. "Oh, don't even bring that up. I hate thinking about it. And the orcs have been gone since the Fifth Age, so you _should_ be used to it by now."

"Sixth," Maglor corrected quietly. "There were some stragglers."

"Details, details."

"Well," said Mithrellas. "Now that we're done with dinner and our trip down Nostalgia Lane, shall we get going?" Her eyes held a borderline-manic gleam as she slipped into the driver's seat. Maglor swallowed down his fear and resigned himself to his fate.

"Are we there yet?" Nimrodel sounded the way Maglor felt - exhausted, exasperated, and trying to hide her terror at Mithrellas's mad driving skills. This last was very strange, as Nimrodel normally didn't mind Mithrellas's speeding tendencies. She was _used_ to them, the poor thing.

"Nope," Mithrellas said cheerily. "But I've managed to shave a good two hours off the trip, so we should be there soon!" She dodged around a small van and sped on up the highway.

 _Fantastic_ , Maglor thought. That was maybe the only upside to Mithrellas's speed obsession - it turned long, boring trips into short, terrifying ones. Personally, he didn't think it was worth the trade-off. "Just...just make sure you don't do anything stupid," he begged her. "Like...pull out in front of a tractor trailer or something..."

Mithrellas gave a bark of laughter. "Maglor, you were in the States too long. People don't _do_ that here! The trucks stay in their lane, we stay in our lanes, and everyone's happy!"

"Except for the people you keep out-driving," Nimrodel said, turning around to get a look at the face of the person on the motorcycle Mithrellas just passed. The man was cursing loudly in German.

"Their fault for not having something with more horsepower," Mithrellas grinned. "I _love_ this car!"

Nimrodel turned a longsuffering gaze on Maglor. "It's new," she explained.

"Ah," said Maglor. That must be why Mithrellas seemed to be driving faster than normal - even by her standards. Since Nimrodel was apparently willing to be civil to him so she could complain about her best friend's idiosyncrasies, he decided to make the most of it while he could. "How new?"

"About a month."

"I see."

"It was recommended on Top Gear," Mithrellas gushed. "I'm _so_ glad I got it!"

"She's been insufferably ecstatic," Nimrodel said. "And she keeps testing its limits, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Oh, Maglor had noticed alright. He glanced out the window at the mountains that were going by _way_ too fast. "How much longer until we get there, exactly?"

"Two hours or so," Mithrellas said cheerily. "Why? Want me to try and get there faster?"

Nimrodel shot Maglor a scathing glare, and he shrank back in his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused about Nimrodel's animosity toward Maglor, please remember that she was pretty prissy toward Amroth - a man she loved - because he was Sindarin. Not even Noldorin. Sindarin. And she still blamed his people for bringing war with them. So when confronted with a Noldorin Kinslayer who was one of the eight main people responsible for a lot of the crap that happened in the First Age, I think it's safe to say that she wouldn't be very friendly towards him.
> 
> Mithrellas, meanwhile, went off and married a human, so I think it's equally safe to say that she's a much more tolerant person. And probably a little daring. After all, the other elf women who married human men were all high-born and extremely powerful - Lúthien was a half-Maia and a princess, Idril Celebrindal was part Noldorin, part Vanyarin, and also a princess, and Arwen was their descendant, the daughter of a powerful elf lord, and went on to become queen of Gondor. Mithrellas was just a Nandorin maiden from a non-Galadriel-boosted wood with no superpowers or high lineage to her name, yet she still went ahead and did something crazy - something that only two people before her had done, something only one person after her would do, and something that historically ended in grief or uncertainty for those involved.
> 
> And I hope that no one is put off by the mention of "Ronnie." I've noticed that a lot of Modernday Elves fics seem to take place in a world in which Tolkien either doesn't exist or never wrote LOTR. Granted, it's a tricky concept to handle, so I understand why they wouldn't include it. Still, it's something that I want to play around with, in a long-term sort of way. There are a few oneshots out there of elves meeting Tolkien, my favorite being Captain Tinkerbell by lipstick (check it out if you haven't already; it's beautiful, awesome, and heart-wrenching all at once), but none that carry through with the concept for a longer story.
> 
> So I'm challenging myself to place the This Day and Age series in a universe where Tolkien existed, knew elves, and wrote and published The Lord of the Rings. I know I might be bordering on sacrilege here, but I fully intend to make an honest and respectful effort to explore the concept.
> 
> So, that's all for now! This chapter might not have been as funny as the last (trust Nimrodel to put a damper on the mood whenever Maglor's in the vicinity), but I hope it was still enjoyable!
> 
> Next time: Our weary travelers finally make it to Imladris, where Maglor has to put up with horrible singing and concerned foster-grandsons!


	3. Tralalalolly, Maglor's Not Jolly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maglor can't get out of Rivendell fast enough, despite the fact he only just GOT there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurricane Matthew is ruining my travel plans so I'm stuck at my parents' house with a few extra days to pack, and I have Tolkien on the brain cuz being here gets me all nostalgic, and Tolkien and nostalgia go hand in hand for me. So here, have this chapter that's been sitting around forever that I finally decided to polish up and post. Because nothing helps fluctuating-travel-plan antsy-ness like at least getting a fic chapter done. :P
> 
> Whenever you see *** go ahead and hover over it for a hover box! I'm still figuring out how to integrate the footnotes. Eventually I'll go back to chapter 2 and use the hover boxes as translations, too.

It was evening by the time the car careened around a mountain and came into view of the valley below.

"Woo!" Mithrellas cheered. "Nearly there! In record time, too!" She'd managed to cut a twelve-hour trip down to nine. Maglor was shocked that they hadn't been pulled over by the _Autobahnpolizei_.

"For the love of light, Mith, would it  _ kill _ you to go any slower?" Nimrodel demanded as they sped down the mountainside.

"Maybe," Mithrellas said cheekily.

"Slow down," Nimrodel ordered.

"But Nimmy - "

"We're  _ here _ , alright? There's no reason to shave off extra minutes; you've shaved off enough as it is!” Nimrodel looked at the speedometer for a moment before glancing back up at her friend. “Mith, please?”

Mithrellas sighed, but Maglor felt the car slow down to something below breakneck. “Alright,” she said. “Since you asked nicely.”

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Nimrodel said, settling back into her seat. She leaned her head against the window, taking in the sight of the little white town tucked into the green valley below.

“How you doing back there, Maglor?” Mithrellas asked.

Maglor had been fearing for his life for  _ hours _ . Now that the car wasn’t in danger of breaking the sound barrier, though, he thought he might be alright. “Oh,” he managed, loosening his grip on his seatbelt, “I’m alright.” He didn’t fear death, but the suspense of waiting for it was both terrifying and exhausting. “Thank you for slowing down,” he added.

"Neither of you are fun," Mithrellas grumbled.

Now that he was no longer constantly bracing himself for a crash, Maglor took the time to admire the scenery. "Town's gotten larger," he observed. The little town of Dorf certainly wasn't  _ huge _ , but its boundaries had definitely expanded.

"Yeah, it's grown since..." Mithrellas trailed off, frowning. "When was the last time you were here, Maglor?"

"The forties." He hadn't had much say in the matter, but then he hadn't had much  _ to _ say at the time, either. Elladan and Elrohir had practically dragged him out of the trenches, and he'd been far too exhausted to protest. The fact that he hadn't complained once while they'd smuggled themselves through Germany had only made the twins more worried. They'd brought him to Imladris and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to rest and recover until they deemed him fit enough to be on his own again.

While the rest of the world was fighting and then recovering from World War II - while  _ he _ was fighting World War II - Maglor was still recovering from World War I. War was always horrific, and Maglor was no stranger to death and destruction, but  _ those two _ had been particularly terrible. The fighting had been bad. The war crimes had been bad. The new technology that had made it tremendously easy to kill other living beings for a few inches of land had been beyond bad - the Nirnaeth Arnoediad hadn’t seen a quarter as much carnage. And in every decade since the wars the mortals had come up with newer, more efficient ways to kill each other and found excuses to use them. Morgoth would have been so smug.

There were  _ reasons _ the elves had decided to start counting the Seventh Age with World War II’s end.

Maglor had spent the latter half of the forties in Imladris, where the twins had kept a close eye on him. With no sea and no war, it'd been a peaceful few years. He hadn't even had to put up with Nimrodel, as she and Mithrellas had been off touring the Americas. It had been the longest he'd stayed in any one place for over a century. Of course, he had finally grown restless, and he left the little elven hideaway in the early '50s when Ronnie sent him a letter to ask for help with a book.

He hadn't been back since.

"Yeah, a lot's changed since then," said Mithrellas, and she turned down a little side road that led into a thick forest - a hidden trail that most people might miss. With a smirk she added, "Except for, you know. The things that stay the same."

Speaking of which...

" _ O! Where are you going? _ __  
_ And how are you faring? _ __  
_ The river is flowing! _ __  
_ Your tires need airing! _ __  
_ O! Tra-la-la-lally! _ _  
_ __ Here down in the valley! "

Maglor groaned. " _ No _ . No, no,  _ no _ ."

"Yes," Nimrodel sighed, sounding as excited about it as he was.

"Mmph," said Maglor, putting his face in his hands. "You'd think that they'd grow out of this stupid ritual after ten thousand years..."

"Crazy Sindar," Nimrodel muttered.

"I think it's lovely," Mithrellas said, entirely too cheerful.

" _ O! You've traveled for hours! _ __  
_ Your gas tank is draining! _ __  
_ Now please don't be sour, _ __  
_ And please stop complaining! _ __  
_ O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly! _ __  
_ The valley is jolly! _ _  
_ __ Ha-ha! "

Maglor was seriously reconsidering his decision to come - more seriously than he’d already been, that was. He wondered how Mithrellas would react if he jumped out of the car. It wouldn't be the first time he'd jumped out of a moving vehicle - he’d be perfectly capable of getting on his feet and making a break for it before Mithrellas could come after him. He could probably count on Nimrodel to keep her from trying to retrieve him for at  _ least _ ten seconds, and then it’d be a few more before she’d managed to turn the car around and come after him. That was all the time he’d need to run into the forest, where the car couldn’t follow, and then he could run to the town and find a way to get someplace  _ saner _ . Somewhere where the only horrid songs were the ones he sang to keep idiot tourists at bay. At least his depressing ballads were  _ well-written _ , as opposed to this tripe.

Imladris's welcoming committee was one of the very few things Maglor was ashamed of Elrond for. He had no idea why his foster son had thought this made for good entertainment. But he supposed he couldn't  _ blame _ Elrond - it wasn't like Maglor had ever  _ done anything _ to ensure his foster son had a deep love and understanding of music. All he'd ever done was teach the boy how to play the harp and lyre and flute and pipes and sang him and Elros to sleep every night and had them memorize a number of Valinorian songs and taught them rhyming patterns and scansion and how to properly project one's voice and given each of them a set of musical instruments of their own which, he knew for a fact, Elrond had kept and passed down to his own children years later. Clearly, Maglor just hadn't tried hard enough to make sure Elrond properly appreciated the art of music.

...That or Elrond had used the founding of Imladris and its traditions as an expression of childish rebellion.

And now, over fifteen thousand years later, Maglor had to put up with this awful excuse for music. Curse that boy.

" _ O! Stop being so grumpy _ __  
_ And try to be cheerful! _ __  
_ The road's sort of bumpy, _ __  
_ So Mith, do drive careful! _ __  
_ O tra-la-la-lally! _ _  
_ __ Come down to the valley! "

Maglor groaned again, face still buried in his hands. "That was the worst slant rhyme I've ever heard." He was exaggerating - the worst slant rhyme he'd ever heard had actually been in a long-forgotten dialect of Ancient Greek - but the situation called for it. He thought over his escape route. If he jumped out of the car now, he'd be able to run back down the road before Mithrellas stopped arguing with Nimrodel about whether he was worth retrieving and just turned the car around. There might be some interference from the singers in the woods, who might try to knock him out with their hideous caterwauling, but Maglor was certain he could outrun them. He was no Wood Elf, but he knew how to disappear when he had to, and the singing would just encourage him to run faster. He could be back at the main road within minutes, at which point he could run into the forest that  _ wasn't _ part of the Imladris estate, make his way to Dorf, and hitchhike his way back to a beach.

For five seconds, he seriously considered it.

But then he heard the clatter of hooves and the jingling of many little bells, and he knew it was too late. A white horse burst out of the trees on the side of the road and galloped up to the passenger's' side of the car. Keeping pace with the vehicle, it whinnied a happy welcome, the bells on its harness jingling merrily. Its golden-haired rider gave the newcomers a jaunty salute. "Mae g'evennin!"

Maglor groaned and slouched back in his seat. It was officially too late for any escape attempt.

"Ciao, Glorfindel!" Mithrellas grinned.

"Good to see you, Mith!" the elf lord said. Catching sight of Maglor in the back seat, he exclaimed, " _ Gott im Himmel _ , you actually  _ found _ him! And got him here!"

"Did you expect any less?"

"Truthfully? We were betting whether or not he'd even show up at your rendezvous point."

"In that case, I hope I just lost you an excessive amount of cash," Maglor said dryly.

Glorfindel laughed. "Quite the opposite, actually. Lindir's gonna be pissed..." His blasted horse shook its head merrily, setting the bells in a jingling chorus.

" _ O! The jingling bells _ __  
_ Sound so sweet with their ringing! _ __  
_ The river is flowing _ __  
_ And elves are yet singing! _ __  
_ Oh tra-la-la-lalley! _ __  
_ Come back to the valley! _ _  
_ __ Haha! "

"Don't they ever shut up?" Maglor asked.

"No," Glorfindel answered, still grinning. "Shall I ride on ahead and let everyone know you've arrived?"

"I think it's already obvious," Nimrodel grumbled, wincing as yet another verse rang through the trees. Maglor had to agree with her; it would be a miracle if anyone  _ didn't _ know that they'd arrived.

"Ride on ahead?" Mithrellas repeated. "Are you mad? If anything, I ought to let them know  _ you're _ on  _ your  _ way! Bona fide Valinorian stallion or not, my car can get to the house much faster than your ancient horse!"

Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

Nimrodel turned around in her seat to look at Maglor, and they exchanged horrified, wide-eyed glances. Mithrellas speeding down a highway with traffic laws, police, and other people to keep her at least vaguely in check was one thing. Mithrellas speeding down a private road with no other cars in a race against one of Oromë’s own stock? That was quite another.

Mithrellas, of course, was all too happy to accept Glorfindel’s challenge. "You're on!" she grinned, all teeth.

"Um,” said Nimrodel, “Mith - "

"Not now, Nimmy,” Mithrellas said, braking the car to a complete stop so that Glorfindel and his steed could get in position beside them. Nimrodel and Maglor immediately went for the doors, but the handles were locked. 

“Mithrellas,” Maglor said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt as he wrenched at the handle. In the front seat, Nimrodel was slamming her shoulder against the door. “Mithrellas,  _ open the doors _ .” He tried to put on his oft-unused noble air, a tone he used sparingly but that always made people  _ listen _ . He was an ancient Noldorin prince, the descendant of some of the most powerful elves in history, a commanding leader who’d fought dark lords and defied gods. 

Mithrellas, naturally, paid him no heed. “Busy!” she said cheerily. “Besides, you’re not disappearing off into the woods on my watch! Alright Glorfindel, on your mark."

Maglor swore the dratted Vanya shot him a smirk as he lined up beside the car. Nimrodel gave up on the door and threw herself against her seat in preparation for the thrust. “Maglor,” she said, turning her head slightly to face him, “as someone with experience in the matter, if Mith gets us killed here, would that make her a kinslayer?”

...Was that a  _ joke _ ? A rather macabre one that slighted Maglor’s family, of course, but still. Maybe Nimrodel didn’t completely disdain him enough to die loathing his entire existence after all. “You’ll have to ask Mandos,” he said, double-checking his seatbelt. There was no possible way to make it any more secure. “I’m not sure if this will fit the criteria - ”

"Get set..."

Maglor grabbed at the door handle again, bracing himself. He heard Nimrodel reciting an ancient Nandorin prayer.

"GO!"

The force from the sudden velocity was so great, Maglor wondered if he'd melded with his seat. Outside, the forest passed in a brownish-green blur. Nimrodel was shrieking in the front seat, and Mithrellas was whooping. Outside, he heard voices singing, but the words were unintelligible over the roar of the engine. And there was also the sound of furiously-ringing jingle bells.

Maglor thought about the Halls of Mandos. He wondered how he was going to explain to his family that, after countless wars and natural disasters and continental rearrangement, he'd finally been done in by a crazy Wood Elf and her obsession with flooring the gas pedal. Father would not be pleased. Maedhros would sigh and shake his head. Celegorm would roll his eyes and give a derisive snort, Caranthir would stop rolling his eyes halfway through the action so it didn't look like he was copying Celegorm, Curufin would file the incident away to use as future blackmail, and Ambarussa would be rolling around on the floor, laughing hysterically. Oh, and Grandmother Miriel would probably weave a tapestry of it. Curufin would probably blackmail her into making it as embarrassing as possible. That or he'd strike a criminally unfair deal with Maglor in exchange for telling Grandmother Miriel to make it as  _ un _ embarrassing as possible.

The forest shot by the windows in a massive green-brown blur - it was surely only a matter of time before they crashed into something. But then, suddenly, Maglor saw the gates to the house itself up ahead. Maybe, just  _ maybe _ , he wasn't going to die. Unless he suffered a heart attack once this was all over. Could elves even  _ get _ heart attacks? He'd never heard of it before, not counting that one time Elrohir had faked it to get out of a sticky situation with some mortals. If Maglor was the first elf to ever experience a heart attack, Curufin would have a field day.

With one last shout, Mithrellas drove through the gates and turned hard to the left. The car skidded sideways across the driveway, screeching horribly and leaving long, dark treadmarks. When it finally plowed to a stop, Mithrellas whooped again and jumped out of the car.

"YEAH!" she shouted. "THAT! WAS! AWESOME!" Glorfindel and his horse come galloping through the gate, and she whooped again, fists in the air. "Told you so! In your face! Yeah!"

Maglor sat still as stone in his seat, staring at the upholstery and enjoying the sensation of his furiously-but-still-beating heart. And breathing. It’d been a while since he’d had an experience that reminded him how nice breathing was.

Nimrodel, meanwhile, tore off her seatbelt and yanked her door open, bolted out of her seat, and hurried on shaky legs up the stone stairs to the door of the house.

"I've been wanting to test this baby out for  _ weeks _ !" Mithrellas shouted, sounding absolutely ecstatic.

"I'm glad I gave you an excuse to do so," Glorfindel said good-naturedly.

"I didn't give Asfaloth a heart attack, did I?"

"No, no, he's perfectly fine...a little miffed, but fine..." The horse snorted and shook its mane.

"Mithrellas!" someone shouted. Maglor glanced up at the house, and saw Elladan standing on the steps. "Can I assume Nimrodel’s cursing and the tread marks on my tarmac are somehow related?"

"You could say that."

Elladan smiled and hurried down the front stairway. "Did you find...?"

Maglor sighed and stepped out of the car.

"Maglor!" Elladan beamed, and then his face fell when he took in the Noldo's bedraggled appearance. "Oh, Valar, you look awful. Don’t you at least  _ try _ to take care of yourself when you go through this phase?"

Maglor scowled. "I survived three Ages without you two to worry about me."

"Yes, but that was before water pollution."

Maglor gave him a dull look. "Water pollution doesn't hurt us, Elladan."

"It's the  _ principle _ of the thing," Elladan said. He looked Maglor up and down, taking in the battered sandals, ripped pants, and tattered shirt he was wearing. "Have you seriously been doing nothing but walking on beaches for the past year?"

Maglor huffed, grabbed his sack from the back seat, and began stalking towards the house. "I used to walk on beaches for centuries straight; a year is  _ nothing _ . I don't see why you people are so obsessed over - " The rest of his words were cut off as the front door suddenly swung open and a blur of dark hair and wine-red skirts streaked down the front stairs, bowling him over in the process. Maglor lay on the ground for a moment and stared up at the darkening sky, wondering what had just happened.

"Rhíchen!" he heard Elladan shout.

"Sorry Lord Maglor!" the girl shouted. Maglor grunted and pushed himself off the ground in time to see her tackle her next victim. "MITHRELLAS!"

"Rhíchen!" Mithrellas cried, instantly turning away from Glorfindel. "I got you the  _ loveliest _ pair of heels while we were in Florence..." She rummaged through the back seat for a moment, and then came the sound of impossibly high-pitched, dolphin-like squealing.

"OH. EM. GEE. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Maglor turned away from the shoe-obsessed elf women to stare at Elladan. "'Oh em gee'?"

Elladan shrugged. "All the cool kids are saying it."

It had been a year since he'd last been on a computer, but Maglor knew what chatspeak was. "By 'cool kids' I suppose you mean 'internet-obsessed geeks'?"

"Oh-em-gee you're here!"

Maglor groaned and turned to see Elrohir standing on the front landing. Elladan tried to contain his snickers.

"You came!" Elrohir grinned.

"You sound so surprised."

"Shouldn't I be?" Elrohir hurried down the stairs to Maglor's side. "C'mon, let's get you inside. I'll take your stuff," he said, grabbing Maglor's satchel, "and...um...I'll take your...stuff..." He looked around. "Uh, where's the rest of it?"

"He's wandering," Elladan reminded him.

"I don't see why you're so surprised," Maglor grumbled. "You  _ knew _ I didn't know where I was when you called me."

Young Rhíchen suddenly hurried past them, carrying a mountain of luggage and shopping bags. "Mith, you're, like, totally my favoritest person in the entire world, you know that?"

"I figured," Mithrellas said amusedly, following after with a more moderate amount of baggage. "You know, you don't need to carry that all on your own..."

"Oh, but I  _ owe _ you," Rhíchen said, the words coming out in a near-squeal. "Prada! Oh-em- _ gee _ I love you so much!"

Maglor scowled after her. "I can't believe people are actually  _ speaking that out loud _ ."

"What?" Elrohir asked.

"I think he means the chatspeak," Glorfindel said, coming over to them. His blasted horse followed him and started snuffling at Maglor's hair, which probably smelled like seaweed.

"Oh," said Elrohir. "Right. That."

Maglor yanked a lock of hair away from Asfaloth. "Of course I mean the chatspeak. It belongs on the internet. I never dreamed it'd cross over into the real world."

Elrohir laughed. "Maggie, the internet  _ is _ the real world these days! Besides, we all know linguistic drift happens."

“I wasn’t expecting that much drift!” Maglor said, stalking into the house. The others followed after him, with the exception of Asfaloth, who went off to do whatever it was ancient Valinorian-bred stallions did in their off time. Look pretty and chew up the garden, Maglor supposed. That was what Celegorm’s stupid horse had always done.

"So," said Elladan as they walked. "How've you been?"

"The usual."

"That bad, huh?" Elrohir muttered.

" _ Yes _ , that bad," Maglor snapped. “And I hope you remember that it could always be worse!” And then he stopped in his tracks because Erestor suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Maglor," said Erestor.

"Erestor," said Maglor.

"Welcome back," said Erestor. "Don't break anything, and don't you  _ dare _ stain the carpets again."

Maglor nodded. Erestor nodded back. Awkward reunion thus complete, they brushed past each other and continued in opposite directions. The twins and Glorfindel followed Maglor, of course.

"So, we have your room ready for you," Elladan said. "You remember where it is, right?"

"Of course I remember where it - "

"MERCIFUL VALAR, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DRIVEWAY?!?"

The four elves turned around to see Erestor at the front door, staring in horror at the tire marks.

"Mithrellas happened," Glorfindel grinned.

"Did you  _ encourage her _ ?"

"...No."

"Calm down, Erestor," Elladan said. "This is nothing compared to the Doughnut of '97."

Erestor's face darkened. "Don't remind me. No wonder poor Nimrodel is in hysterics." He looked Maglor up and down. "You were in the car, correct?"

"No,” Maglor said dryly, “I was strapped to the roof."

"Because you don't look like you're about to collapse from the overwhelming force of unleashing repressed anxiety."

"Can't afford to. It'd be seven Ages' worth of repressed anxiety."

"Is Nim alright?" Elladan asked.

"She's calling for Mithrellas's hands on a platter so she can never drive again,” Erestor said. “I sent her to lie down for a bit. I'm sure she'll be fine in an hour or so."

"Oh, good," said Elrohir. "Just in time for dinner, then."

"Yes, and - GLORFINDEL!"

"Yes?"

"Your blasted horse is eating my love-in-a-mist!"

Glorfindel winced and rushed out the door. "Asfaloth! Bad! Bad horse!"

Maglor thought that Asfaloth was probably well aware that he was a bad horse who wasn’t supposed to eat the love-in-a-mist and did so anyway. Celegorm’s horse had always munched on the prettiest flowers - usually chewing in a mockingly slow manner while fixing the offended party with the equine equivalent of a smirk. It’d driven their mother crazy. It’d driven Maedhros crazy. It’d even driven  _ Curufin _ crazy, because the damned mare had responded to neither blackmail nor bribery when he’d tried to stop her from destroying his wife’s nursery of plant genetics experiments. Celegorm’s stupid, stubborn horse had been responsible for the ruin of gardens across Valinor and Beleriand both. Yavannah herself had once cursed out Orome for allowing such a gluttonous, insolent creature to be bred. Maglor had it on good authority that half the reason for all that drama in Nargothrond had been because she’d eaten Orodreth’s prized ornamental shrubbery.

Judging from the way Erestor and Glorfindel were shouting, Asfaloth was all-too-happy to follow in the long-dead mare’s footsteps. Maglor wondered if they might be related. He’d never thought to check.

"Well," said Elladan. "Shall we get you to your room, Maglor?"

Maglor huffed and turned to head on down the hallway. “Fine,” he sighed.

* * *

 

“So, here’s your room,” Elrohir said, waving his hand in a grand flourish. “Just the way you left it back in...uh…” He poked at the record player. “1950-something?”

Maglor snorted. “This is  _ not _ the way I left it,” he said, crossing the room. “For one thing, this bedspread is new.”

“We  _ do _ need to replace them every decade or so.”

Maglor dropped his bag on the bed and looked around, frowning. “For another thing,  _ where _ are my records?” He hadn’t really meant to call them  _ his _ \- as far as he was concerned, they weren’t, he hadn’t paid for them himself, all he’d ever done was listen to them - but for the sake of the sentence, he used the possessive. He’d left an entire shelf full of the things behind when he’d left for England.

“Uh,” said Elrohir, looking around. “I think...Lindir took them at first?” He scratched the back of his head.

“They’re probably in the cellar by now,” Elladan said. “Right between the Gondorian armor and the illuminated manuscripts.”

“We could dig them out for you, if you like,” Elrohir offered.

Maglor snorted. “I’m fine, thanks.” He wasn’t planning on staying long enough to care about digging up old artifacts. “I’m shocked you even still have them.”

“Eh, some of them might be worth something someday,” Elladan shrugged. “Also vinyl is just nice sometimes.”

“iPods are so much more convenient, though,” Elrohir said, and he peered at Maglor. “Wait, do you know what an iPod is?”

“ _ Yes _ , I know what an iPod is,” Maglor huffed, rolling his eyes. “I got one for Christmas for…” He trailed off, remembering just  _ who _ he’d gotten that gift for, and realizing that he’d just inadvertently reminded Elladan and Elrohir about her as well.

The twins exchanged glances. “So!” Elladan began. “Jacelyn’s doing great, you know.”

“Of course she is,” Maglor sighed, dropping down to sit on the bed.

“Job’s going well,” Elladan said, ticking off his fingers. “And she’s been doing a great job running the boarding house. And she and Rashaad are still going steady.”

“Really steady,” Elrohir added.

“Yeah, really,  _ really _ steady.”

“So steady that we should  _ probably _ figure out how to break it to him that his probable future fiance was actually raised by an assortment of immortal beings straight out of the greatest fantasy story ever told, since I’m getting the feeling that’s probably the kind of secret that could damage a marriage.”

Maglor snorted. “I’m sure Jacelyn will figure out how to explain it to him when the time comes.”

“Yeah, she’s a smart girl,” Elrohir said.

“She’s worried about you,” Elladan added.

Maglor snorted again. “She shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” 

“We’re  _ all _ worried about you.”

“I highly doubt that you’re  _ all _ worried about me,” Maglor said, because there were a few people he was fairly sure couldn’t care less for him.

“Oh my god, don’t start this again,” Elrohir muttered.

“Maglor,” Elladan said sternly, “it has literally been over ten millennia since the First Age. It’s water under the bridge. No one in this house cares about your past anymore. And there’s so few of us left these days that we’re just glad to have another elf around.”

“Yes, because Erestor looked  _ so _ happy to see me.”

“Erestor  _ always _ looks like that,” Elrohir said. “You really ought to know that by now.”

"Look, Maglor," said Elladan, "we've been over this a million times. We get  _ worried _ , alright? Especially with your habit of just wandering off whenever you want and not showing up again for decades. And now that technology's progressed to the point where we can instantly communicate with each other, no matter where we are - we just wish you'd try to keep in touch. Even if you just sent us a text message - "

"Ah, yes, the glorious cell phone," Maglor said dryly. Despite the miracles technology was working for communication, part of him missed the days when he could fall off the face of the earth for a few decades and no one was capable of finding him until he  _ wanted _ them to. 

" - even if you just sent us a text message every month letting us know you're alive," Elladan soldiered on, "we'd be grateful."

"You don't have to worry about me dying," Maglor said. "I don't think I'm allowed to."

Elladan ignored him. "I mean, would it kill you to send a text message every so often?"

Maglor snorted, but all he said was, "You never get on Daeron's case for disappearing!"

The twins exchanged glances. "Daeron is  _ very _ hard to get ahold of,” Elladan said.

“Not to mention a little..." Elrohir looped his finger in circles at the side of his head. “Out there.”

Maglor snorted. "Oh, and I'm not?"

"At least you aren't always comparing us to Luthien."

No, he just mixed them up with their father and uncle.

“When was the last time anyone even heard from Daeron, anyway?” Elladan asked.

There was a moment of silence while they thought it over.

“...1911?” Elrohir asked. “He showed up for a week, sang a lot, made Lindir feel like his musical talent was inadequate, and wandered off into the woods again.”

“Sounds about right,” Elladan said.

“World War One,” Maglor said. “At Roos.” Daeron had come out of nowhere in the woods and scared the living daylights out of Maglor, who’d only just managed to not scream and alert the two mortals walking through the hemlock glade that he was kind of stalking them. The two elves had wound up having a jam session together, and Ronnie and Edith, bewildered but enchanted, had danced among the flowers to the tune of an unseen pipe and harp.

“So it’s been, like, ninety years,” Elladan said, frowning. “Huh.”

Maglor privately envied Daeron’s ability to just disappear for decades on end.  _ He’d _ been able to do that once, long ago. Maybe he should just swear off cell phones.

“He’ll turn up again,” Elrohir shrugged. “Next time he needs to stare into our eyes and wax poetic about Great-Great-Grandma Luthien.”

Elladan made a face. “Right. Anyway, we’re talking about the wrong obsessively-nostalgic minstrel.” He turned his attention back to Maglor.

“It’s only been a year,” Maglor said, refusing to be cowed. “A  _ year _ . If you can’t go a mere year without hearing from me without throwing a fit - ”

“ _ I _ don’t mind so much that it’s been a year,” Elladan spoke over him. “Years are short, and barring nuclear war or the end of the world, we have plenty of them ahead. You know who doesn’t? You know who sees a year as a  _ very _ long time?”

Maglor clapped his mouth shut, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“ _ Mortals _ , Maglor,” Elladan said. “Mortals like your daughter.” When Maglor didn’t say anything, he continued, "She misses you. A lot. And she's even more worried than we are. You just  _ left _ her."

"She's a grown woman," Maglor protested, repeating the same argument he'd used yesterday. "She can take care of herself."

“This isn’t about whether or not she’s being provided for, and you know it,” Elladan said.

“She  _ misses you _ ,” Elrohir said. “ _ A lot _ .”

“And you  _ know _ she has abandonment issues,” Elladan added.

Maglor winced. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left someone who’d already been abandoned before. He tried not to think about Elrond.

“Mith and Nim moved in with her for a few months to make sure she was alright,” Elrohir added. “She really didn’t take it well. Especially since, y’know, you just kind of up and left.”

Maglor fumbled with his hands. “She - I - it was time for me to  _ go _ .” He’d stayed in one place for nearly a decade to raise Jacelyn, after centuries of wandering. He’d been itching to get back on the move.

“Yeah,” Elrohir said, “but you could’ve stayed in touch. She’s worried about you.”

“That’s not how it  _ works _ !” Maglor snapped. “I don’t - I’ve never - ” He’d raised dozens of orphans in the ages since Elrond and Elros, and with every adopted child that reached adulthood and self-sufficiency, he’d left a note and stolen away. It’d been so  _ easy _ to just disappear before, when letters had been the only method of communication and tracking someone with a satellite had been impossible. “I’m not  _ supposed _ to stay with them, I just - I make sure they’re okay, and I - she’s  _ fine _ , she doesn’t need me, none of them need me once they grow up and we’re all better off - ” He broke off abruptly, told himself to stop  _ sputtering _ . He was Maglor Feanorion, master of music and words, son of the man who’d stirred the Noldor to rebellion by the power of his speech alone. He did not  _ sputter _ . “I told Jacelyn I was leaving,” he said. “I left. I’m sorry I worried her. But I’ve never…”

It was silent for a moment.

“It’s a new millennium, Maglor,” Elladan said. “Maybe it’s time for a different approach to the post-parenting thing.”

Maglor thought of his daughter - his brilliant, determined daughter, who could rap out verses and beatbox to his harpstrings, whose skill with a camera rendered pictures that were worth ten thousand words, who always worked hard towards her goals no matter how stuck or stupid or hopeless things seemed, who’d carefully needled Maglor for information on Middle-Earth long before Peter Jackson’s films had catapulted the story into public popularity, who hated reading but had diligently forced her way through all of Ronnie’s works in an effort to better understand her father’s past.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss her.

“Alright,” he sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable. “I’ll call her.”

Elladan smiled. “Good,” he said.

“Not right now, though,” Elrohir added quickly. “It’s two in the morning where she is.”

“Tomorrow morning, then,” Maglor said. He thought for a moment before asking, “There’s a phone in the kitchen, right?”

The twins frowned at him. "Doesn't your cell get international service?" Elladan asked.

Maglor shifted on his seat. "Well, yes. Yes, I suppose it did."

" _ Did _ ?"

"Ossë and Uinen are probably fooling around with it right now."

Elladan groaned. Elrohir looked scandalized. "You  _ threw your cell phone into the ocean _ ?"

Maglor shrugged. "I have a habit of throwing bright, shiny things that cost far more than they’re worth into large bodies of water."

Elladan groaned again. "I can't believe - no, wait, I can." He rubbed his temples. "Ugh. Alright. We're gonna get you a new phone before you leave here."

"Must you?"

" _ Yes _ ," said Elladan. 

"Alright," Maglor sighed, making a mental note to not tell them when he was leaving. 

Elladan gave him a hard look, like he knew exactly what Maglor was thinking. Maybe he did. Elrond’s children did seem to have inherited his intuition. “Well then,” he said, standing up and heading for the door. “We’ll let you get settled in. Dinner’s in an hour - that should be enough time for you to get cleaned up.”

“And for Nimrodel to stop yelling at Mithrellas,” Elrohir added, following his brother. He paused in the doorframe after Elladan had gone out. “Hey, you know how this hallway is mostly storage space and you?”

Maglor blinked. “Yes?” Imladris was much smaller than it’d been in ages past, but even though many elves still called the place home, it had more rooms than it did inhabitants. When the twins had insisted on giving Maglor his own space here, he had in turn insisted that his room be located in the farthest reaches of the house, at the end of a corridor connecting rooms that were only used for storage, where he could be a grumpy recluse in peace.

“Well, it’s not just you anymore,” Elrohir said. “Jacelyn claimed the room across from yours for when she visits.”

He closed the door behind him, and Maglor was left blinking on the bed. 

Eventually he stood. He cleaned himself up in the small bathroom tucked in the corner of his quarters, checked the wardrobe just to see if anyone had - ah, yes, it was fully stocked. It seemed that someone had cleared out his 1950s attire and replaced it with modern garments, as well as a few pieces of recreated traditional Third Age Imladris fashion. Maglor ignored the embroidered robes in favor of the jeans and t-shirts. He wondered if they’d been here for a while, if the twins had the wardrobe cleaned out and restocked every decade or so in anticipation of his arrival, if they’d just slapped it together after he’d agreed to visit yesterday, if there’d been a shopping trip involved or if they’d just gleaned bits and pieces from everyone else in the house - 

He slid another hanger aside to uncover a Walt Disney World pullover featuring a generic Mickey Mouse design, and he stilled. He knew this sweatshirt. He’d bought it while on vacation years ago, on Jacelyn’s insistence that “You have to get  _ something _ Dad, yeesh! How can you come all the way down here and not buy anything?” She’d picked it out for him, and he’d paid for the hideously overpriced thing, and a few months later when they were back home up north and winter was upon them he’d found it was actually very warm and cozy. He’d worn it every winter since, much to his daughter’s smug delight, right on up until a year ago. It’d been in his closet in the house he’d signed over to Jacelyn when he left.

Maglor stared at the shirt, his thoughts straying to the room across the hallway. After a moment he slid the next six hangers across the rack, covering the old souvenir and keeping it out of sight. He grabbed the next t-shirt he saw - simple, plain, navy blue - and a pair of jeans, and then he closed the wardrobe and went to get dressed.

* * *

 

Dinner was served in the dining room, though the long table was rather empty. Most members of the household were apparently taking their dinner out in the forest, as the weather was nice and they didn't feel like taking a break from their awful singing to go to the actual dining room. Thus, the diners in the house consisted of the twins, Glorfindel, Mithrellas, Nimrodel, Maglor, and young Rhíchen, who was sporting her new shoes. She was practically bouncing in them as she flew back and forth between the kitchen and dining room with trays of food, with all the ease of someone who’d been walking in heels for over a century.

Maglor took the seat next to Glorfindel and across from Mithrellas, who was gushing to Elrohir about her new car. Beside her, Nimrodel looked annoyed but far less upset than she had earlier.

“Makalaurë!” Glorfindel greeted him with a grin.

“Laurëfindë,” Maglor sighed. Rhíchen, in the act of setting down a platter of sliced bread and cheese and prosciutto, looked intrigued at the Quenya names.

“So how’ve you been?” Glorfindel asked, snatching a piece of prosciutto and grinning his thanks at Rhíchen. “How was the trip? Mithrellas has been giving us details but honestly all she’s talking about is the car.”

“My car is  _ awesome _ !”

“Her driving skills are still terrifying but effective,” Maglor said.

“Hey, if I’d thought we were in any danger at any time, I would’ve slowed down! You know I’m a very responsible driver!”

Maglor huffed, and Nimrodel rolled her eyes. For a moment, their gazes met, and they accidentally shared an exasperated look.

“The sad thing is, she’s right,” Maglor sighed. Mithrellas’s lead foot notwithstanding, her elven reflexes and century of experience behind the wheel made her the most qualified person to go double the speed limit.

“I miss the days when cars only went thirty miles*** per hour,” Nimrodel said, ripping apart a piece of bread.

“Ha!” Mithrellas laughed. “No. Thank goodness that’s over! There are numbers on speedometers that few people will ever safely hit now!”

Maglor and Nimrodel exchanged another exasperated look, this time completely intentionally.

“You enjoy your cars,” Glorfindel said, grabbing a bowl of chopped potatoes drizzled with herbs and olive oil. “I’ll stick with my horse. Asfaloth would be offended if I replaced him.”

Maglor snorted. “Did you succeed in stopping him from eating all the love-in-a-mist?”

“I owe Erestor new flowerbeds,” Glorfindel sighed, handing the bowl off to Maglor. “Oh well, I needed something to do tomorrow, anyway. Hey, you want to help me with the plants? They’d probably take root quicker if you sang to them.”

“My songs would make them wither and die,” Maglor deadpanned, spooning potatoes onto his plate. The empty chair beside him was suddenly pulled out, and he turned to see Rhíchen plop into the seat. Apparently she was done setting out food - judging from how much was on the table, there were few dishes left. 

She grabbed for a piece of cheese from the platter in the center of the table and shot Maglor a grin. "Hiya Lord Maglor!"

For some reason, she’d decided to sit next to him. He had no idea why.

"Hello, Rhíchen," he answered. "Potatoes?"

“Po-ta-toes!” Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Mithrellas chorused. Maglor cursed himself for saying the P-word. He’d forgotten about the annoying “tradition” that’d ruined many a decent meal since 2002. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive Sean Astin.

"Oh, yes  _ please _ !" Rhíchen said.

Maglor passed the bowl her way and took a moment to survey her. She hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her, during that Disney World trip back in the '80s, though he thought she might look a little older. Rhíchen was one of the younger elves - not the youngest, but still much, much younger than anyone else at the table. She'd been born sometime in the 19th century, though Maglor couldn't remember when, exactly.

"Where are your parents?" Maglor asked, glancing around for Calithil and Lindir.

"Nana's helping Erestor finish up in the kitchen," Rhíchen said, heaping potatoes onto her plate. "And Ada's probably going to avoid you and Glorfindel for a bit because he owes Glorfindel seventeen _pfennigs_ *** because he bet you wouldn't show up." She paused before adding, " _And_ you always make him feel inferior with your singing, but I totally didn't say that."

Maglor smirked. "Didn't say what?"

She grinned.

“Still upset I won you that bet, though,” Maglor added to Glorfindel.

“I had complete and total faith in Mithrellas’s ability to drag you up here kicking and screaming,” Glorfindel said. Across the table, Mithrellas raised her glass to him.

“Yes, all hail Mithrellas and her ability to pull people together,” Elladan said from the head of the table. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“I was in the car, too,” Nimrodel said.

“Yeah, but I think we can safely say you  _ probably _ didn’t give a shit about getting Maglor up here - ”

“LANGUAGE!” Erestor’s voice bellowed from the kitchen. Elladan rolled his eyes.

“This is true,” Nimrodel shrugged, turning her attention back to her food.

“Anyway, we ought to send you after Daeron next,” Elrohir said to Mithrellas. “We just remembered it’s been about a hundred years since anyone’s seen him.”

Mithrellas snorted. “Knowing Daeron, he’s probably somewhere that not even an off-roader could get to. I’ll pass. He can grace us with his presence whenever he’s ready.”

“I’d rather track down Tauriel, really,” Nimrodel said. “Last I heard she was trekking through the Pacific Northwest.”

“Ooh, rain and redwoods,” Mithrellas hummed. “Might need to make that our next road trip, then. It’ll be nice after hot, sunny Italy.”

Rhíchen looked at Maglor. “So how  _ were _ the beaches of Italy?"

"Sandy," he told the girl. "Very sandy." Sandy, and full of annoying tourists and bratty seagulls and the ever-present notion that Ossë and Uinen were laughing at him.

"I wish I could spend a year on the beach," she sighed.

"Great!" Elrohir said. "We'll make you Maggie's chaperone. He'll take you to all  _ sorts _ of beaches, and you can make sure he calls us every so often."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Maglor said. "My songs would probably sink her into a pit of depression that she'd never be able to climb out of."

"Then you'd just have to sing about something  _ happy _ ," Elrohir snipped. Maglor gave him a dull look. Rhíchen glanced back and forth between them uncertainly.

Erestor and Calithil chose that moment to enter the dining room, Erestor with a salad, Calithil with a platter of sauerbraten. “And here’s the main course!” she said, setting the food down on the table before taking the seat next to her daughter.

“Alright,” Elrohir said, grabbing for the salad bowl the second Erestor set it down. “Everyone make sure you eat super healthy tonight, because tomorrow it’s nothing but cheesy carby goodness until our stomachs commit mutiny.”

“Seriously?” Maglor asked, wrinkling his nose.

“ _ Yes _ , Maglor, that’s the entire point of Pizza Night! You’ll love it, don’t worry. When was the last time you even  _ had _ pizza?”

“I was in  _ Italy _ ,” Maglor reminded him. “Of course I had pizza. Plenty of pizza.”***

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Okay, point taken. But tomorrow you’ll have even  _ more _ pizza! And watch a movie. And socialize. Pizza, movie, friends and family. It’s gonna be great!”

“So glad we could drag you kicking and screaming to our little get-together,” Glorfindel grinned.

“My pleasure,” Maglor said dryly.

“Shush, you’ll have fun,” Elrohir said. “I mean, we haven’t picked out what movie we’re watching yet so  _ that _ could be a total disaster, but at least you’ll love the pizza. There’s this pizza place in town that opened up a few years ago. It’s great, you’ll love it.”

Maglor snorted. “ _ German _ pizza,” he said, mostly just to be a jerk.

“I like the pizza,” Rhíchen said quietly, and then she jerked a bit, eyes widening slightly. Maglor recognized it as the universal look of youngsters who hadn’t meant to speak out loud realizing that they’d just done exactly that. Huh. Interesting.

“Yes, we know, dear,” Calithil laughed, and she looked at Nimrodel and Mithrellas. “I swear, this one goes out to eat pizza at least once a week.”

Mithrellas snickered. “Alright hon, you love pizza that much, next time Nimmy and I decide to tour Italy you can come with. We can swim at the beach and shop for shoes and eat pizza to your heart’s content.”

Rhíchen smiled. “I’d like that.”

Erestor had sat down beside Nimrodel and was helping himself to the roast beef. “How much pizza are we ordering tomorrow, anyway?”

“Enough for the whole household!” Elrohir proclaimed. “And at least one of every kind of pizza they offer. Plus a few they don’t. I have a list.”

“Even the arugula one?” Rhíchen asked, making a face.

“ _ Yes _ .”

“You’re ordering that much pizza?” Maglor asked.

“Already ordered!” Elrohir corrected him. “I always let them know a few days ahead of time. It’s only polite.”

“How often do you do this?”

Elrohir shrugged. “Eh, often enough. They’re used to us and our large orders.”

“It makes me wonder why they aren’t more suspicious about our parties,” Erestor huffed. 

“Because we tip  _ very _ well,” Elrohir said.

By the time dinner was over, the sky had gone dark. Melodious voices drifted in from the garden.

“Sounds like Gil-Estel’s rising,” Elladan said. “Shall we head outside?”

And just like that, dinner was adjourned. Calithil left the room, Rhíchen bouncing behind her, and Glorfindel trailed after them asking if he was going to have to hunt down Lindir to get his money. Erestor followed at a sedate pace. Mithrellas and Nimrodel exchanged glances at the table.

“Feel like going outside and singing to that guy we have no ties to from that legend that didn’t concern us with the jewel we  _ definitely _ don’t care about?” Nimrodel asked.

“Sure!” Mithrellas beamed.

“We get it, you’re Wood Elves,” Elladan sighed.

Nimrodel stuck her tongue out at him. “Just a friendly reminder!” she said, and then she and Mithrellas were also gone.

The twins looked at Maglor expectantly.

"What?"

"You coming?" Elladan asked.

"Oh, no," Maglor said, standing up and backing away from the table. "I draw the line at singing to your blasted grandfather."

"How about Elbereth, then?"

"I doubt she'd like to hear anything from me."

“But - ”

“Give it up, Elladan,” Maglor ordered, getting up from the table. “I am  _ not _ singing to Earendil  _ or _ Elbereth.”

* * *

 

Not in public, anyway. 

They found him in his room hours later, sitting on the windowsill and gazing up at the stars while quietly singing in Quenya. The twins crept in and sat beside him. There was singing from the gardens below -  _ real _ singing, not the horrid, pointless drivel from earlier.

It was a peaceful moment. Maglor ruined it by asking, “Shouldn’t you two be in bed?”

“Nice to know your paternal instincts are intact,” Elrohir said. “And for your information, we’re all grown up. We can do whatever we want.”

Maglor made a funny sound in the back of his throat.

“What?” Elrohir asked.

“Nothing.”

There was another moment of silence, and for a few minutes they all watched Feanor’s silmaril float across the sky.

“D’you think Ada ever rides along?” Elladan asked.

“Huh,” said Maglor. He’d never considered it. “Perhaps.”

“I hope so,” Elrohir said. He looked intrigued at the idea. “It must be fun!”

“Most likely,” Maglor agreed, and he had to fight a sudden wave of jealousy. Elrond was more than entitled to flying around on a space-faring ship with a glowing rock Maglor had sought after for an Age and his actual, biological father. Elrond was more than entitled to spending time with his actual, biological father, who hadn’t acquired his children by killing anyone, or killed anyone in general who hadn’t deserved it, or sworn a stupid oath, or completely messed things up so badly in Arda that it was still a mess Ages later.

Elrond was a grown Elf-Man-Maia-Person-Thing, and entitled to do whatever he wanted, and Maglor certainly wasn’t jealous over Elrond hypothetically sailing the heavens with Earendil at all.

Maglor  _ was _ still pretty sure that Earendil had commitment issues, workaholic issues, and parental issues, and also took smug satisfaction in the fact that  _ he’d _ been the one to raise Elrond into what he’d become.

But he certainly wasn’t  _ jealous _ .

“Maybe he’s up there right now,” Elrohir said. “Watching us.”

“I’d like that,” Elladan smiled.

Maglor found himself smiling as well. He’d like that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please do review if you're so inclined.
> 
> Also my apologies if I get any German/other European culture stuff wrong, and please let me know if I do. My dad's from Italy, but I myself am very far removed from the continent, and generally have to look stuff up on the internet. 
> 
> No promises on when the next chapter will be posted. :P

**Author's Note:**

> Next Chapter: Maglor enjoys an awkward road trip with Mithrellas and Nimrodel.


End file.
